Poems by Jean Ingelow, In Two Volumes, Volume I. eBook

“Then all the soothed winds shall drop to listen,
(Thy kingdom come,)
Comforted waters waxen calm shall glisten
With bashful tremblement beneath His smile:
And Echo ever the while
Shall take, and in her awful joy repeat,
The laughter of His lips—­(thy kingdom come):
And hills that sit apart shall be no longer dumb;
No, they shall shout and shout,
Raining their lovely loyalty along the dewy plain:
And valleys round about,

“And all the well-contented land, made sweet
With flowers she opened at
His feet,
Shall answer; shout and make the welkin ring
And tell it to the stars, shout, shout, and sing;
Her cup being full to the
brim,
Her poverty made rich with
Him,
Her yearning satisfied to its utmost sum,—­
Lift up thy voice, O earth, prepare thy song,
It shall not yet be long,
Lift up, O earth, for He shall come again,
Thy Lord; and He shall reign, and He SHALL reign,—­
Thy kingdom come.”

SONGS

ON

THE VOICES OF BIRDS.

[Illustration]

SONGS ON THE VOICES OF BIRDS.

INTRODUCTION.

CHILD AND BOATMAN.

“Martin, I wonder who makes all the songs.”
“You do, sir?”
“Yes,
I wonder how they come.”
“Well, boy, I wonder what you’ll wonder
next!”
“But somebody must make them?”
“Sure
enough.”
“Does your wife know?”
“She
never said she did.”
“You told me that she knew so many things.”
“I said she was a London woman, sir,
And a fine scholar, but I never said
She knew about the songs.”
“I
wish she did.”
“And I wish no such thing; she knows enough,
She knows too much already. Look you now,
This vessel’s off the stocks, a tidy craft.”
“A schooner, Martin?”
“No,
boy, no; a brig,
Only she’s schooner rigged,—­a lovely
craft.”
“Is she for me? O, thank you, Martin, dear.
What shall I call her?”
“Well,
sir, what you please.”
“Then write on her ‘The Eagle.’”
“Bless
the child!
Eagle! why, you know naught of eagles, you.
When we lay off the coast, up Canada way,
And chanced to be ashore when twilight fell,
That was the place for eagles; bald they were,
With eyes as yellow as gold.”
“O,
Martin, dear,
Tell me about them.”
“Tell!
there’s nought to tell,
Only they snored o’ nights and frighted us.”
“Snored?”
“Ay,
I tell you, snored; they slept upright
In the great oaks by scores; as true as time,
If I’d had aught upon my mind just then,
I wouldn’t have walked that wood for unknown